


Feast

by stratumgermanitivum



Series: Ficlets [16]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Come Eating, Come in Food, Consent Issues, Exhasperated Will Graham, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Masturbation, Obsessive Hannibal Lecter, Sneakiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:26:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25169179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stratumgermanitivum/pseuds/stratumgermanitivum
Summary: It had been an impulsive decision, the first time.Hannibal was not an impulsive man. He had, in fact, spent much of his early years intentionally training himself away from rash, snap decisions.However, he was only human (despite his best efforts). And Will Graham was… Will Graham.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Ficlets [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774918
Comments: 15
Kudos: 291





	Feast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ruis_gort](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruis_gort/gifts).



It had been an impulsive decision, the first time.

Hannibal was not an impulsive man. He had, in fact, spent much of his early years intentionally training himself away from rash, snap decisions.

However, he was only human (despite his best efforts). And Will Graham was… Will Graham.

There had never before been anyone quite so brilliant, quite so beautiful. There was a darkness within Will that Hannibal could practically taste, that he longed to coax to the surface. It had been decades since Hannibal had felt such a pull to another person, and the last attempt had not ended well for him.

Murasaki had not been able to appreciate Hannibal’s darkness as it was. Will…

Will would be different.

He wasn’t, yet, but Hannibal could see it building within him. He saw beauty where others saw horror, he could stare straight into darkness, unflinching. He carried it with him, a heavy weight around his shoulders, a shroud that would one day consume him.

Hannibal wanted to be there to watch, to see what rose from the ashes after.

Hannibal had a great many reasons to admire Will Graham, but the first time, he was embarrassed to admit, had been born entirely of basic human lust.

Will was tired, lilting to the side even as he sat at Hannibal’s table. They’d just wrapped up a case that still weighed heavily on him, that informed his motions, his walk, the way he spoke. His deductions had been quick, precise. Even exhausted, he looked like a painting. He’d blinked up at Hannibal with heavy-lidded blue eyes, and Hannibal had pushed him back into his seat when he tried to stand.

“I should help,” Will murmured.

“I’ll take care of it,” Hannibal said. “I have a few things that can be prepared quickly.”

He’d been halfway to arousal already, by the time he sequestered himself in the kitchen. Normally, Hannibal had a better handle on his physical responses, but there was something about Will Graham that shattered all the typicals of Hannibal’s life.

Feeding his kills to others brought Hannibal no small amount of satisfaction, of true joy. He liked to watch their faces change at the first burst of flavor.

But it seemed unfair, that some rude census taker would be inside Will. That Will would carry a piece of this stranger, while Hannibal watched. And yearned.

His belt had been undone before Hannibal quite knew what he was doing.

Hannibal’s fantasies were a nebulous sort, more sensation than narrative. The way Will’s lips would be slightly chapped, the bristle of stubble against Hannibal’s jaw.

Hannibal let his essence drip into Will’s portion of the stew. He felt no guilt—he was incapable—only a sense of _rightness_ that he should leave such an imprint on Will’s life.

That was when it started, but far from where it ended.

Shared lunches provided on cases. Soup brought to the hospital. Once, coffee, in a tricky maneuver that had nearly gotten Hannibal caught.

Will consumed Hannibal in gulps, in greedy swallows. Hannibal was mesmerized by the bob of his Adam’s apple, the pink of his tongue when he wet his lips.

Hannibal escalated.

He’d never been the type to give in to compulsions. His art was a hobby, not a need. But he could not seem to stop himself from doing _this_ , from inserting himself into Will Graham’s life in every manner he could.

He created his own reserve for Will, carefully brewed so that the sourness would not overwhelm the beverage. He began to ambush Will at home with boxes of leftovers.

It had become a craft, in and of itself, seeing what elaborate things he could make without ruining their flavor, what he could feed Will that would have him grinning.

Hannibal fed Will so often that he liked to imagine there was not a single moment when he wasn’t with Will.

Never before had Hannibal been reckless, never had he taken unnecessary risks. But perhaps, in all the time they spent together, Will had learned to observe _him_ , as well. Perhaps Hannibal had always been running on borrowed time.

“I _knew_ it.”

He was caught, quite literally, with his pants down, his fingertips still damp and dripping. Will glared at him from the doorway to the kitchen.

“Will,” Hannibal said, for once in his life at a loss for words. “Will,” he attempted again, with no more success than the first time.

“You son of a bitch,” Will said.”

“You were supposed to be starting the fire.”

“ _You_ were supposed to be searing people and calling it loin, but here we are.”

Hannibal blinked. He blinked again. This was… not how he’d imagined this conversation going. For one thing, when he fantasized about sharing his art with Will, it was usually without his briefs bunched up behind his testicles.

Hannibal reached for his slacks, headless of the mess on his hands. He had the brief, fleeting notion that he could just kill Will, and then all the embarrassment would go away.

But Hannibal’s mind had ground to a shuddering halt, and Will was already storming across the room.

“I don’t know how you’ve managed to fool everyone else for so long,” Will growled, reaching for Hannibal. Hannibal backed away, calculating the distance to his knives. “Do you have any idea how obvious you’ve gotten around me? We should count ourselves lucky you didn’t develop a crush on _Jack_.”

Hannibal paused with his hand over the knife block to give Will an irritated scowl. “I assure you I have better self-preservation skills than _that_.”

Besides, Jack was married, and Hannibal quite liked Bella.

“You don’t,” Will said, “you really, _really_ don’t.”

Hannibal reached for the knife. Will reached for Hannibal.

They tumbled to the floor, the entire knife block falling with them, scattering utensils across the floor. Will managed to get Hannibal’s hands pinned, smirking down at him.

Hannibal was stronger, broader. Will had only pinned him by catching him off-guard, and there was little he’d be able to do to defend himself if Hannibal flipped them now.

But his smile made Hannibal hesitate. There was something vicious to it, but not unpleasant. Not cruel.

“You’re an asshole,” Will said, sounding almost fond. “And I’m going to give you hell for this for _years_.”

Years.

As though Will was planning to stick around.

“First, though,” Will continued, reaching down for his belt, “I’m going to give you a taste of your own medicine.”

It was possible he’d meant it to be humiliating, or even degrading. Instead, Hannibal’s mouth watered. He flipped them, ignoring Will’s surprised ‘oomph’ in favor of crouching between his thighs and undoing Will’s belt himself, tossing it aside. Will’s slacks and boxers met a similar fate, until Hannibal was face-to-face with Will’s desire.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re incredibly weird?” Will asked, tangling his fingers in Hannibal’s hair.

“Are you going to stop me?”

“Well, I’m going to supervise you more in the kitchen, that’s for sure. But no,” Will added, voice softening, “I’m not going to stop you.”

He was talking about more than just this moment, this electricity between them, and they both knew it. Hannibal ducked his head, letting Will guide him where he was needed.

“You inside of me,” Will said, “me inside of you. What a pair we make.”


End file.
